


Robot

by BeforePeaceIsAStorm



Category: Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Cartoon 2018)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Blood, Crying, Donnie has ADHD, Gen, Guilt, He Isn’t Bad Just Protective and Misinformed, Hurt Michelangelo (TMNT), Hurt/Comfort, I Just Value Close Sibling Relationships, I Promise I Love You But The Angst, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Sorry, It’s Only Implied Though, Kinda, Leo has Dyslexia, Platonic Relationships, Sorry Raph, also only implied, enjoy your angst, no I’m not, not tcest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:41:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26401321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeforePeaceIsAStorm/pseuds/BeforePeaceIsAStorm
Summary: Donnie would never hurt one of his brothers, not on purpose at least. It was an accident, he hadn’t known, he couldn’t have.-Or, where Raph didn’t manage to get the message to Donnie that the game was real in time, and he makes a grave mistake.
Relationships: Donatello & Leonardo (TMNT), Donatello & Michelangelo (TMNT), Michelangelo & Raphael (TMNT)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 151





	Robot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PepperPrince](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperPrince/gifts).



> Hey there! My first work for this fandom, and you all have the lovely Jack to thank for it. They dragged me into this fandom recently, and naturally I started torturing them with angst ideas, so this came about. Also, they edited which I seriously need because I cannot focus on editing.
> 
> I would like to note that I love Raph, he’s amazing. In this fic he comes across a little bad, maybe slightly more like his 2012 counterpart. Without giving anything away, he does something he would never normally do, but it’s a reaction based on all his haywire emotions and some misassumptions. I’m sorry baby.
> 
> Also, everyone gives Leo or Mikey ADHD, why not Donnie? Obviously he would be more inattentive (like me) than hyperactive, but he would totally hyperfixate on his project for days at a time! (Cut to me not even moving for a total of fourteen hours because I was building a Minecraft castle)
> 
> As for the Dyslexic Leo tag, I’m gonna post a oneshot for that headcanon eventually when I get around to writing it.
> 
> Oh, one more thing! First time writing in present tense, let me know if I messed up.

Donnie would never hurt them, this _has_ to be some kind of misunderstanding, Leonardo reasons as he leaps to avoid another blast. There’s no way that he would willingly attack them, especially with a robot taller than the buildings around them. If Donnie wanted revenge for something—not that there’s anything Leo could even _think_ of that he would be angry about, recently at least—he wouldn’t involve innocents, or the rest of the city. If he was really pissed enough to wanna rough them up, he would do it in a subtler way, he’d probably build some kind of machine and trick them into using it, something that would inconvenience them without harm. Donnie would _never_ hurt them.

“Donnie!” Raph shouts again at the mech, but Leo knows it’s useless, he’d tried yelling already. He rolls, careful to avoid the flames, and comes up next to Mikey, eyeing the machine so they wouldn’t be caught unaware while they talked. 

Mikey looks confused, and maybe a little hurt and scared. “Donnie would never do this on purpose,” he says firmly, watching wide eyes behind an orange band flick to him. “Donnie would never hurt us,” he repeats, but it sounds a little hollow when punctuated by an explosion that has them both taking a few steps back from the shockwave. He remembers back when Donnie was little, back when he still cried so easily, like he was always on the verge of tears. They’d been playing (one of the few times they’d managed to get him to join) and he’d accidentally tripped Mikey while running. He’d scraped his knee, but Donnie was the one crying and apologizing like he’d punched him instead. He’d always been protective of Michael, they all were.

Leo wonders if the others remember the last day he ever cried as thoroughly as he does. If they remember a six year old Donatello just wanting to explore and being told he couldn’t, that it was too dangerous. He’d burst into tears, hissed at them all that he wasn’t weak, that he was just as strong as the rest of them and that he didn’t need to be protected. He’d never shed another tear after that day, at least not where anyone else could see, and Leo finds it hard to piece the image of his big brother crying over a scraped knee, or just wanting to explore with the cold, steel face of the mech. Donnie is distant, always has been, more comfortable alone and quiet, but he still cares. He loves them with all his heart, even if he doesn’t always show it.

Which is why Leo knows there’s no way his twin brother is doing this on purpose.

He and Mikey break apart eventually, leaping back into the fray. He’s careful not to portal too much, he needs to keep his strength, considering this thing isn’t even flinching at their attacks. 

His fingers twitch around the hilt of his blade, and he pulls into a run, if he could just make it up to the head he could stab the brain thingy, or… something.

Leo can’t help the feeling of helplessness that crawls up his spine like a hundred eager spiders, or the cold wash of discomfort that settles in the pit of his stomach. Tech is Donnie’s thing, it always has been. If he was here, he could stop it, but, then again, if he was here they wouldn’t be fighting in the first place. He shoves that thought deep into his mind, and forces his trust for his brother to the forefront. 

He thinks of his twin brother, who was always there to lend a hand, who sat and wiped away the blood from his mouth or iced his bruises when he did something stupid and got himself banged up. He jerks his sword in the familiar circular motion, pulling up a portal. “Sorry, Donnie,” he whispers, thinking back to hushed promises one such night, with two black eyes and a gash on his shoulder that needed stitches. Thinks of his twin brother, steeled with steady hands and calm demeanour as he did them himself, not wavering once as he pushed the needle through his flesh again and again. He thinks about the hissed anger afterwards, mantras of, _‘never do that again. Think before you act, because I will_ not _lose you to your own stupid recklessness.’_ and how that was the angriest he’d ever seen him, stemming from a place of concern and fear. He thinks about his agreement, how he promised. “I tried to keep my promise.” He says, even though Donnie will never hear his words.

He had for awhile, he thinks in-between the void of one place and the next, the darkness. He’s been more careful since that day, but he’s never fully lost the recklessness or the disregard for his safety. 

He reappears on the rooftop next to the mech’s head, and lunges for it, already preparing a strike with the power of his leap behind it. “Leo!” He notices too late, and makes an aborted effort to twist out of the way, but it’s useless. He stares, watching the hand get closer and closer to him. It’s the end, he realizes, he’s about to be swatted to the concrete below like a pesky fly.

Leonardo closes his eyes, resigned.

Something wraps around his wrist, and his eyes snap open. He would recognize the rough material against his skin anyday, and doesn’t let himself hiss at the burn of the ropes against his bare wrist. Things slow down, like in those action movies, and yet at the same time they seem to speed up. He’s helpless to watch as Mikey yanks him out of the way, but the momentum is too much to stop.

Michelangelo takes his place.

He watches for a moment as his little brother’s body crumples at the impact, and goes flying. He doesn’t see him land, too busy crashing into the neighbouring rooftop.

The steel against his skin hurts where it splits and bleeds, and he rolls over and over, but he knows it’s nothing compared to Mikey, his sunshine-like little brother. He hadn’t expected to survive the fall and the crash, Leo knows Mikey isn’t as tough as him. He’s younger, smaller, frailer, but that doesn’t stop him from lunging for his sword, and opening a portal.

He doesn’t realize he’s screaming Mike’s name until he hears it ring and echo the shockingly compressing silence of the gap between portals. He has to be alive.

Leonardo lands with all the grace of a newborn foal, his body burns and aches all over, but he’s on the ground now, and he doesn’t need to look far to find Mikey, because Raph has him. He’s cradling him in the hands of his battle form. The glowing red blends in alarmingly to the blood Leo can see dotting him in patches, and even though Raphael caught him, he doesn’t allow himself the relieved breath his body craves. They aren’t out of danger yet. He’d been hit hard, and even being caught the force was still immense. 

He races for them, Leo can already see the blast heading right for them, and he prays he can get there and open a portal in time.

He never knew he could run so fast, Mikey has always been faster, but Leo thinks that he’s running at a speed even his little brother could never even reach. Normally, he would feel a sense of pride at that, at accomplishing something, at _winning_ —but now all he feels is sick.

The world lights up blue around them as he dashes in a circle, steel slicing through the air like butter in a tight arc. Raphael had returned to normal, carrying Michael.

For a moment, their eyes meet, right before the portal opens up below them and his brother drops. Leo barely has the time to leap in after them. He can feel the scorching heat on the top of his head, probably blackening his already-dark bandana.

His feet hit the ground, and it jolts every bone in his body, lights his skin on fire like he’d been just a _little_ too late in jumping. Leo bites down hard on his tongue to keep from crying out, and spins to look at Raph.

Mikey looks dead in his hands, his skin looks more grey than the usual vibrant green, and his orange splotches look glossed over and dull. He’s unconscious, and _fuck,_ the _blood._ Leo kind of wants to throw up, looking at the puddle of it forming in the floor. His little brother's blood is on the floor. Mikey, _his baby brother_ , who always knows how to cheer someone up, with a smile that rivals the warmth of the fucking sun. His little brother is bleeding out in front of him and there’s nothing he can do except for whimper.

“Donatello! Medical emergency!” Thankfully, Raph is responding to the situation, because Leo can’t even move. He’s frozen, and the fear is crawling up his throat in a burning itch. He can feel the tears in his eyes, watching Raphael set Mikey down on the pullout metal slab. He looks so small against it, and his paled skin is blending into the grey colour. Leonardo can’t help but be reminded of when he was a little kid, small and sick and just wanting comfort. With a flash of pure agony, sharp and flickering in his gut, Leo reminds himself that Mikey _is_ a child. He’s thirteen, god he’s only thirteen. He still has a massive sweet-tooth, and he doesn’t get dirty jokes, and he refuses to swear, even when all his big brothers do so without hindrance on the surface.

Leonardo makes a choked noise in the back of his throat, and blinks away the tears stinging at his eyes. Instead, he whirls on his foot, and heads into the kitchen to get a wet cloth to clear away the blood. He can hear Donnie’s frantic footsteps, probably gathering supplies.

He can’t even bring himself to care that they’d just left that mech behind on the surface to terrorize the city. Maybe with Donatello distracted it’ll just stop. He finds himself yearning for his father instead. Splinter was out running some kinds of errands, and would be for a few days. He has no idea that his youngest child is bleeding out in their home, has no idea that Mikey just took what could end up being a fatal hit for him. His hands are shaking, he notices numbly, and they’re covered in blood. He knows it’s his own, he hadn’t gotten close enough to Michael for the blood to be anything but his.

He doesn’t even bother to check his injuries, he’s not important right now, he can deal with all the scrapes and bruises in the world if it means that Mikey will be able to smile and laugh and play again.

He takes only a few seconds to compose himself before heading back into the room, with a bucket of warm water and a wet cloth in hand. He knows his job in this situation, he’s meant to clear away all the blood and dust so Donnie can work. 

Every step he takes feels like he’s being weighed down with lead. He shakes when he drops to kneel at Mikey’s side, but Leo just bites his tongue and begins to wipe away the blood. 

It’s bad, his shell is cracked, and Leonardo might not exactly be an expert, but he knows what broken bones look like, and he can tell that Michelangelo has a lot of them. So many, in fact, that he’s limp like a ragdoll, and many of his libs are angled unnaturally. 

“Donatello! Hurry the fuck up! It’s extreme!” Raphael snaps again, his voice comes out strangled despite the yell, and laced with so much venom that even Leonardo winces. It’s not anyone's fault, he reminds himself. Donnie didn’t know it was them, he hadn’t expected Mikey to take the hit for him. He can tell Raph blames Donnie though, and, honestly? With each passing second it’s getting harder and harder not to think the same, wiping sticky blood from his little brother’s face like he’s a kid again, cleaning food from around his mouth. 

All that blame vanishes the second Donnie arrives, because Leo takes one look at him, and for a split second he watches his composure crumble and shatter into pure, undiluted terror. 

A split second, however, is all it takes before he’s schooled his face back into something serious, and he rushes to crouch next to Leo, dropping down his medical equipment all around him with the least care he’d ever seen the usually-delicate turtle ever use. He moves back, but he doesn’t go far, usually the one to put pressure on wounds while he waits for his genius of a twin to do his work and patch whoever is injured up. Unless it’s him, of course, in which case Raph usually steps in, though he puts a little too much pressure (better than too little, which is why Mikey never does it unless necessary. Always too afraid of hurting them). Thankfully, it usually _is_ Leo who’s injured enough to warrant someone trying to stem the bloodflow, his brothers had mostly been spared that issue.

He glances between each of his brothers, and knows that this is just the beginning. He’s gonna be Donnie’s only defence against Raph, who looks like he’s biting his tongue to keep from yelling, like he’s only letting Donnie near Mikey out of necessity. _He probably is,_ Leo took a steadying breath, and clenched his hands tight around the rag, now soaked red with blood. When he’s done, Leo wonders if Donatello will ever be able to approach their brother again under their leader’s watch. 

He hopes so, he knows it’s not his twins fault. Donnie would never hurt them, it was a misunderstanding.

-

Donatello knows he has a bad habit of getting enraptured with one thing. He knows that he has a problem with getting a cool idea, or seeing some new tech, and he’s learned to recognize the itch burning like a wildfire just below his skin, urging him to continue tinkering, continue learning until he can’t abstain from the bathroom any longer. He stays up for days with whatever newest interest happens to catch his attention, doesn’t sleep and barely eats. There’s only two things that have ever been able to pull him away from his work. 

The first is Leonardo, his “twin” brother, when his jokes fall away to a concerned, pleading expression that he can never seem to say no to, who just wants him to eat and sleep and be healthy. Raphael always tended to try and order him to bed, or drag him, which usually just made him angry and spiteful. Then, of course, Mikey, who—despite having perfected the puppy-dog eyes—never used it to coax him away from work. Instead, he usually gets caught up in the excitement with Donnie, and bounces up and down while asking rapidfire questions about how everything worked. Leo, the calm balance between both, knowing when to push and when to back away, was the first (and most common) reason he took a break from his work. His brothers had long-since learned only ever to send him in, lest they wanted to deal with his anger or his focus increasing tenfold. 

The second thing that ever managed to pull him away from his obsession for more than a few minutes was, naturally, a medical emergency. Emergencies, of course, were rare. Usually, it tended to be along the lines of a broken arm or leg, perhaps a deep cut that needed stitches or disinfecting. Usually, it’s Leo who ends up with them, he’s reckless and believes himself untouchable no matter how many times he’s been hurt before. Donnie loves his brother with all his heart, but one day, he swears, Leonardo will be the death of him. He’ll be dead before he’s in his thirties from a heart attack. 

When Raph screams a medical emergency, Donatello doesn’t hesitate. What he does do, however, is panic. 

His heart leaps into his throat at the same time he hops out of his chair, already scrambling for the medical equipment left by the door for him. He drops to his knees, grabbing scanners, the first aid kit, and then he dashes around to his room to gather any other essentials. He imagines Leo on their makeshift medical table, and tries to skim through what could have possibly happened to put such strangled fear in Raphael’s voice. It’s not the same as anxiety, he knows, he’d long since learned the sound of his anxious voice, and this is something else entirely. 

It’s nothing like the first time he broke a bone, or the time when he carried a delirious Leo in, rambling on about nothing, blood leaking from his head like it had nowhere else in the world to be. He sounds nothing like he had for concussions, broken arms, chipped teeth or deep scratches. He sounds genuinely afraid for the life of whoever had to be injured. 

_You promised you wouldn’t do anything stupid, Leo,_ he thinks frantically, because it’s always Leo getting hurt. He’ll always be reckless and wild, but he’s calmed down somewhat since that night nearly a year ago, where he had to sit there and stitch up his own god damn little brother’s arm while he cracked jokes like nothing was wrong. Like he hadn’t been stupid, and reckless, and hadn’t been close to an even worse injury. 

His hands are steady, they always are under pressure, and he forces his mind steady too. His brothers need him, they don’t need his panic, or his worry, they need his guarantees that everything is going to be okay. He needs to sit there and tell them with facts and logic that everything will be—irrefutably—just fine. 

Donnie gathers all the medical equipment he can carry, and he hurries as fast as he can to where he’d built a medical table into the wall after the first bigger accident when Raph broke his arm. 

Donnie steels himself, preparing for all manner of things he might see, but bursting through the door, taking in Mikey, his baby brother, lying prone on that cold slab, looking lifeless… for a second he cracks. 

But he can’t afford to crack, his brothers need him, Mikey most of all. He schools his expression, and closes the space between them in three rapid steps, dropping down to his knees and releasing his medical equipment in one quick movement. Leo shuffles away from him a little, giving him room to work, and he notes absently that he’s hurt too, although definitely not as bad.

God, if he had just _been_ there instead of playing his _stupid_ game- 

_No,_ Donnie cuts himself off. He can’t afford to think like that when his brother’s in danger. He wraps his hand around the scanner, and lifts it up, tracing the whole length of his patient's body with the light purple beam. 

It’s… bad. He kind of wants to cry. He hasn’t cried since he was a child, hadn’t allowed himself, but this is the kind of situation where he really thinks he deserves to. _It’s bad,_ he reminds himself, _but it’s not fatal._

A broken arm, a cracked shell, two broken ribs and one fractured, a ton of internal bruising and his leg was out of alignment, seemingly dislocated. “It’s not fatal,” he barely remembers to say aloud. “Mikey’s gonna be okay, but it’s gonna take some time.” Donatello lets out a calm breath, and gets to work. 

His hands remain steady, but he can tell that Leo is watching the tense, horrified line where he’s forcing them still.

-

Donnie has—and will—always hate stitching up wounds. It’s definitely the worst part of being the family doctor. He snips the thin thread with his scissors, thankful it’s the last injury. It was the smallest, it very well could have healed without stitches, especially because they were tougher than humans, but it was deep enough they wouldn’t harm the healing process, and he knows Mikey will prefer the way it heals with a smaller scar. 

He sets his scissors back, but doesn’t bother to move his medical equipment, he doesn’t know if he’s going to need it again soon, and he’d much rather not take the chance and end up too slow. He wonders briefly if he should just keep his medical supplies here permanently, and make some kind of compartment for them, before deciding that thought could at least wait until he’d washed his little brothers drying blood off his hands. 

He pushes himself slowly to his feet, taking in the aching in his knees, and decides that now that he’s taller the table needs to reflect that, so he can stand and work. He’d built it when he was eight, and had grown a lot in the six years since. 

It wasn’t until he looked at Leo—who was watching him with a quiet, shocked sort of expression—that he remembered he was hurt too, and gestured for him to pull out a chair. “I need to clean your injuries too,” he couldn’t help but notice the shards of steel embedded in the wound and grabbed the tweezers. Leo didn’t hesitate long, before doing as he was told, grabbing a seat and pulling it up. The wound was a pretty vicious scrape all along his entire right side, every part of exposed skin was covered in a patchwork maze of blood and scratches, emphasized with the shrapnel scattered in there too. 

He ignores his knees protests, and bends down again, this time focused on pulling out the silver bits of steel. He wonders whether it was meant to worry him that Leo didn’t even flinch or not. At least the scene is familiar, comforting in a dark sort of way. Donnie could almost pretend that it was only Leo hurt again, his reckless twin, and he would patch him up and stare at him for a long time before calling him an idiot and leaving to wash up so Leo could gather himself and head back to his own room. 

He wipes the blood away, and disinfects the injury, all as gentle as he can. However, considering it covers the entire span of his right side, it’s not like he can really bandage it up. Thankfully, the wounds are shallow, or Donnie might not have been able to hold back the tears prickling at the backs of his eyes. He tries not to think of Mikey, lying limp and pained beside him, knowing it’ll only make the burn worse. 

Finally, he finishes and turns to Raph, getting to his feet. He can imagine why his older brother looks so angry, if he had been there he could have helped, maybe Mikey wouldn’t be so hurt. He’s not so arrogant as to think that he could have fixed everything, but at the very least he would have been _there._ “What happened?” He asks quietly, surprised by the lack of emotions in his own voice. Pain and fear and worry are all swirling deep inside his chest like a raging storm, burning through him like a damn supernova, and yet he can’t force any of it into his expression, his tone. 

Perhaps it’s a byproduct of keeping his emotions suppressed for so long, for hiding each flare and burst behind a mask of cool indifference, but all he knows is that he hates it. His baby brother was close to death, and his oldest brother looked angrier than ever. 

“You!” Raphael spits, clenching his fists at his sides until they begin to shake. Donnie’s eyes widen. “That stupid fucking game of yours, _you_ were the one controlling the mech suit that almost killed him in the first place! You don’t even care, even S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N could care more, and he’s a _robot._ ” 

“What?” Donatello takes a step back, unable to keep his eyes from widening. He… he had done that? He glances at Mikey, and the tears rose up to burn at him tauntingly, teasing him. He’d… he’d hurt his little brother, he’d been close to killing them—to killing them _all_ with that final blast. Oh god, oh god. “N-No, Mikey, I-” 

He never gets to finish his sentence, instead he’s stumbling back with a cry of pain, clutching his face and tasting copper on his tongue in a sharp heat. He looks back at Raph with wide eyes after a second of trying to process, but then Leo is there, shoving up between them and pushing their older brother away. 

“Raphael!” He snaps, voice colder than Donnie has ever heard it, “that’s enough. Stay with Mikey, call if anything changes. Come on, Donnie.” Raph’s eyes are still blazing, simmering like pools of magma, but Donnie can’t help but wonder what just happened. Each time his mind tries to flit through the events, to make light of the situation with logic, it slides through his fingers like a slippery equation. He’s left uncomprehending, frozen, but it’s okay because Leo is slipping a hand around his upper arm and tugging him into the kitchen. 

He walks dazedly behind Leonardo, touching the painful spark on his face, and it hits him. 

Raphael punched him. He hurt Mikey so Raph had hurt him back. Honestly, he deserves it, and far worse, but that didn’t stop the shock, and betrayal echoing deep in his chest, burning like flames licking at him. He twitches uncomfortably, and finds himself staring down at the ground. It’s the only thing he can bring himself to look at right now. 

Raph has always been protective, and they all know he would do anything for him. He’d always had a bit of a biting temper, but he’d never, _ever_ hit any of his brothers. Until now, that is. 

“Donnie? Can you look at me, buddy?” He blinks at the sound of Leo’s voice, and looks up, fixing his eyes on the red stripes, and lets out a shaky breath. He’s not sure if he can look anyone in the eyes right now; not when he can feel the guilt starting to creep in, but Leo isn’t trying to, he’s just looking at his jaw, where he’s likely starting to bruise. He can feel the pained ache already building up, and he’s just grateful Raph had pulled his punch, dealing with a broken jaw _and_ trying to care for Mikey would have been hell. “Okay, it’s not too bad. Why don’t you wash your hands and get rid of that blood, huh?” He seemed satisfied that Donnie wasn’t hurt, and he mechanically turned the water on and stuffs his hands under it. 

The spray is hot against his skin, it burns eagerly, but Leo reaches over and fiddles with it until it comes out at a decent temperature instead. Usually his brain would be running a mile-a-minute, analyzing anything and everything, but it’s quiet for once. The silence is unnerving, he can’t seem to focus on anything. Even his eyes pass through whatever he’s looking at. 

Eventually, the water shuts off, and he blinks stupidly at Leo, but he can’t make out the expression on his face, can’t even _look_ at his face, because his eyes feel like they’re stuck in one place, like all he can do is slowly turn his head. Leo grabs his hands, examines them like he’s looking for something. They’re shaking. 

The thought that he was looking for blood doesn’t hit Donnie until his younger brother is already dragging him back to his room, and when it does come it’s sluggish, hesitant. It’s the first proper though he’s had since Raphael punched him. 

_I did this,_ is the second thought. It burns and niggles in his mind, unwelcome. _I hurt him. I almost killed my brothers, Mikey is unconscious because of me. I did this, I put that blood there, I broke his bones and left him covered in scratches. I did this, it’s my fault._

“Hey, Donnie?” Leo’s voice sounds weird when it’s quiet like this, it sounds like shared whispers, and promises made in a dark room, bathed only in the light from his machines. It sounds like seven years old and Leo insisting they were twins even though it was physically impossible, and admitting only in Donnie’s room late at night—where he’d snuck in after having nightmares—that he wanted to be Donnie’s twin more than anything. That he wanted to be close to his favourite big brother, for their bond to be special, because _they_ were special. It sounds like Leo asking him when the last time he ate was, and Donnie asking him in return when he last slept. It’s soft, and it doesn’t help the burn in his eyes or the itch at the back of his throat, building and building until it’s practically a roaring crescendo, and he can no longer drown out the whimper that escaped him. 

His legs give out, and just like that Leonardo darts forward like he was expecting it, catching him under the arms and lowering him down onto the floor. The concrete beneath his already-aching knees is grounding, and so are the hands under his arms. They’re comforting, and when they move to draw away he makes a quiet noise of protest and clings to them. 

“Hey, listen Donnie, I’m just taking off your battle shell so you can relax a bit. I’ll grab your hoodie on the way to the bed, I’m not gonna leave, okay?” Reluctantly, he lets go. Donnie knows his twin brother better than anyone, knows that if he says he won’t leave, nothing could tear him away. He appreciates it, the familiarity is nice, especially when the burning in his eyes reaches it’s peak, and he can feel the tears start to fall. 

He hasn’t cried since a little kid, not since the day he vowed never to cry again, since everyone thought of him as weak and baby-ish and he’d sworn to stop giving them a reason to smother him. They’d felt like they had to protect him just as much as Mikey, because of his soft shell and his tendency to cry. So he’d stopped, and he’d built himself a shell so he wouldn’t be vulnerable. 

With thoughts steadily returning to him, and his natural shell out, Donatello finds irony in his situation. Leo, his twin brother, the last person who had ever seen him cry—who had given him time after he’d blown up at his family, then come to apologize. Who Donnie had allowed himself to take comfort in for the last time before he closed himself off—was the very first person to see him break down once more. 

He’s guided up and onto the bed, his limbs still stiff and movement foreign to his weakened body, and then he’s being pulled into a hug. He leans into it, closing his eyes against the flooding well of tears to try and calm himself down, dam himself back off, but it’s useless.

It’s like eight years of his tears had all been waiting, simmering just beneath the surface to be released at this very moment, with his family in shambles. His baby brother injured to the extreme by his hand, his older brother who’d punched him with trembling fists, and now his twin hunched over him protectively, like he could block out the whole rest of the world. 

Donnie sobs when his hoodie is pressed awkwardly between them, where he’ll notice it, and he leans back just long enough to put it on, reveling in the familiar, comforting weight pooling around him like a second shield, then he latches back onto his younger brother like a lifeline. His body shakes with each sob, and no matter how much he fights them he can’t keep them at bay. He’s always been the most vulnerable with Leo, even in his closed off state. His mind flashes back to hissed words he’d just managed to make sound like he was ordering instead of begging. _‘never do that again. Think before you act, because I will_ not _lose you to your own stupid recklessness.’_ And, _‘I hate the way everyone thinks I need to be protected. Just because my shell is soft, doesn’t mean I’m_ weak, _Leo!’_

Then, inevitably he thinks of Mikey. His baby brother, who can always make him smile. He thinks of hearing familiar footsteps behind him, and not even pausing in his work, just scooting over to make room, or of Mikey in his lap, sleeping, clinging to him. Trying to work around him is always a nightmare, but Donnie doesn’t care. He might not be very physically affectionate, but no one can say no to Mikey’s puppy-dog eyes, and he’d gotten used to—dare he say, comfortable—with it. 

God, what has he _done?_ “I… I almost killed him,” he whispers, his voice is hoarse and barely even loud enough for himself to hear, but his mouth is right next to Leo’s ear, and he can tell by the way his grip tightens that he heard it loud and clear. Strangely, that doesn’t stop him, he craves the vulnerability the same way he craves the physical contact he usually denies. “It’s all my fault, I’m a monster, I hurt Mikey.” 

“Donatello look at me,” Leo’s voice is firm, but not unkind, and he’s pulling away before Donnie really has the chance to debate whether he’s going to listen or not. There’s no trace of disgust or anger in his brother’s eyes, and he lets out a soft breath. His shoulders uncoil a little, relaxing. Raph and Mikey already hate him, he knows he couldn’t stand his twin hating him too. “Did you know it was us you were fighting?” He asks, his voice stuck in that low, determined note. 

“No,” Donnie swallows the lump in his throat. He hadn’t known, he couldn’t have known—it was just a game. He doesn’t need to wonder what happened to it when he left, however, if the sound of smashing he hears is anything to go by. Raph is probably destroying it. 

“Okay, so you didn’t know it was us. If you did, would you have _kept_ fighting?” Leo asks, and Donnie jolts. Did Leo think he would actually hurt them on purpose? He couldn’t have! He had to know that Donnie would rather die than hurt one of his brothers, especially like that. 

“Of course not!” He snaps, but his mouth feels dry at the harshness of his words. Even if he’s being accused, he still can’t fight the apologetic look that makes his way to his face. Donnie is open right now, vulnerable, and what he would usually mask with indifference is bubbling just beneath the surface.

“Okay, then how could it possibly be your fault?” It clicks, then, Leonardo was never trying to accuse him, he never blamed him. He was trying to get Donnie to stop blaming _himself._

He made a distressed noise and leaned frantically back into the hug, tightening his arms over the familiar shell. He’s used to hugging Leo, at least, curling up with him so he can read without his voice rising too loud. He loves Raph, but Donnie doesn’t hug him too much, he doesn’t like to feel smothered, and he has a habit of curling around whoever he’s hugging in a way that makes Don feel trapped. 

He hugged Mikey the most, considering he craved constant physical affection, and was always all over him even when he was working. Leo is a close second, but he doesn’t read to him as much as he used to, and it means they’ve been hugging way less. He thinks that the next few days will be more than enough to make up for all their lost time, because he doesn’t think he can let go if he tries. 

“I love you guys,” he admits quietly, knowing he doesn’t say it enough, and wishing he’d said it more when things were easy. Maybe then Raph wouldn’t be so angry, maybe Mikey could actually forgive him when he wakes up. “I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He doesn’t know what he’s apologizing for. Hurting Mikey? Not being close enough to them? Both? He doesn’t think it matters, because Leo is rocking them both, and humming under his breath. Donnie’s never liked humming, especially when he’s working in the lab, but Mikey and Leo both hum all the time, and he doesn’t like seeing their upset expressions when he asks them to stop—so he deals with it, but now he thinks it’s nice. The sound is calm, and slow, and better than just listening to him hiccup and sob pathetically. 

“I know you do, big brother,” Leo says back to him, his tone is understanding, warm. It’s such a start difference from Raphael telling him that it was his fault, venom dripping from his words. It’s even different from his usual tone, cocky and loud, teasing but friendly. He twitches absently, his fingers tightening their grip briefly on his shell, before loosening again and smoothing themselves down. 

He wonders if their dad will blame him. 

He doesn’t even want to think about it. 

He doesn’t want to think about anything, he just wants to curl up feeling safe and warm, and give in to the exhaustion pulling at his mind and limbs. He hasn’t slept in more than a full day, and crying is just sapping his energy like a leech. He feels drained, like he could probably sleep for a week if Leo let him. The slow, rhythmic rocking—which had fallen in sync with the humming—was relaxing, and his sobs have subsided to only the occasional whimper. 

He falls asleep. 

-

Michelangelo wakes up late in the afternoon of the second day. 

Raphael is sitting with him when Donnie steps into the room. Leo is close behind him, he promised that he wouldn’t let anything happen this time, but the bruise along the side of his face and jaw throbs and pulses with remembrance. 

He crouches next to his baby brother with a soft smile, holding painkillers and water. He doesn’t really feel like smiling, but he knows if he slinks in looking guilty Mikey is going to worry about him. “Hey Mikey,” he says quietly, passing over the pills to his good hand, and waiting until he pops them in his mouth to hand him the glass of water. “How are you feeling?” 

He looks tired, like he’s struggling to keep his eyes open, and he scans and peers at all the bandages covering him like they’ll give his answer for him. “Sore,” he settles on with a weak little half-grin. Donnie reaches down and gathers up the roll of fresh bandages, trying to hide the guilt in his eyes. He knows Mikey will pick it out, he’s like a bloodhound for negative emotions, and can’t stand for any of his brothers to be upset. If anyone should be upset, honestly, it’s him, Donnie had almost _killed_ him, and here he was, laughing and joking and smiling. He’s not upset, he doesn’t blame him, and Leo doesn’t blame him either. He knows Raph will come around eventually, he’s always been protective of Mikey, but Leo assured him he would understand, and that he still loved him. 

The whole room is silent while he works. Mikey is too exhausted to speak, Leo is eyeing Raph, and Raph is watching him like he’s going to flip like a switch and attack Mikey. He can tell that Raphael is worried about him finishing the job, and that hurts. He loves his brother, but they’d never really been very close, he tends to gravitate more towards Mikey and Leo. 

Mikey only manages to stay awake until he’s done with the bandages, then he falls back asleep, like he’d been waiting. 

Donnie doesn’t stay in the room with Raph glaring at him like he’s ready to throw a second punch. 

He says nothing when Leo stays behind with their other brothers as he retreats to his lab, they’d spent the whole night together, and he deserves a chance with Mikey. Still, though, he can’t help the sharp pang of loneliness as he steps into the familiar room. He’d never really been lonely in his lab before, had preferred it, even—but for some reason, now the room feels too quiet; too empty despite being cluttered with various parts and projects, which all hummed and buzzed with the crackle of electricity. 

He curls a little closer, and flops down on his bench. Usually he would wear his battle shell around the lair, but he honestly can’t bring himself to remove the comforting warmth of his hoodie, it tempers a little of the icy chill that had settled in since Leo had left him alone. 

He pulls up his most recent project, their microwave, which their dad had accidentally broken— _again._

He reaches for a screwdriver and undoes the panel, exposing the wires and different components, all pieced together in a patchwork puzzle that showed years of his meddling. He remembered being just a little kid and taking apart anything he could get his hands on, leaving all their tech a little worn, as things that were not meant to be taken apart, but still had been. He’d always managed to put it back together in a way that worked, however, and after the third time of taking something apart he had started to improve it. Those had been the good old days, although he didn’t envy his brain, which was still learning, or his clumsy hands which fumbled and left things a little off-kilter. He wonders if his hands are so steady _because_ of all the work he’d done requiring it from a young age. Working with electricity that scorched and burned his fingertips when they shook just a little too much, or things that would break if he wasn’t careful to keep still. 

It paid off, he thinks, watching almost absently as his fingers glide around the tech, pressing things into proper places with a speed born of familiarity. He’s steadier now, stronger. 

He thinks of the first time he’d built his headphones, and how the music had sharpened his focus to a steel point, or the first time he ever fixed the toaster; it had turned sentient in the end and he’d needed to reprogram it so they didn’t have an evil toaster running around, burning all the bread it found. Dad hadn’t been happy about that one. 

Donnie loses himself in his work, taking comfort in the repetitive motions of rebuilding their microwave. He leaves it in even better shape than before, knowing it’ll only get broken again if he doesn’t take some measures to reinforce it. 

He doesn’t know how long it is before the sound of quiet footfalls reaches him, and Donnie scooches over on the bench. It’s afternoon, about the usual time that Mikey finds him to see what he’s doing and curl up with him- 

It’s not Mikey, he’s lying on the medical table unconscious. Instead, the familiar form of his twin brother sits down next to him. Leo is hesitant, and with good reason. Donnie never lets him sit up on the bench, he’s always reaching out and fiddling with the things on the desk, so he’d been banished to the beanbag a little bit behind him. 

Donnie’s hand clenches tight around the screwdriver, and he vaguely registers the paling of his skin where the sudden grip is too tight. His hands begin to ache, and then they’re shaking, and his eyes are burning and the tears are flowing again before he can even bring himself to stop them. 

“Donnie?” Leo sounds startled, confused, and maybe more than a little worried. Donatello bites his tongue to fight the sobs, but his shoulders still shake and his breath comes out sharp and quick. Leo reaches over and takes the screwdriver from him, leaving him to clutch at his other hand, twining them together tightly until he can feel the familiar pain warning him he was holding too tight. He doesn’t loosen his grip, even when a hand tosses itself over his shoulders and tugs him close to his brother's side. Donnie curls up, bringing his feet up to rest on the bench with him, and buries his face into his knees. His skin is warm, and the pressure is comforting, though not as much as the awkward side-hug Leo was clutching him in. 

He can’t help but break down. God he ruined everything, it’s all his fault. 

Everything is always his fault.

-

Raphael apologies on the third day. It’s genuine, and Donatello can’t refuse it when he can see the guilt in his big brother’s eyes, hear the tears rising in his voice. So he forgives him, although he wishes it’s enough to stop what happens on the sixth day. 

Mikey is awake and feeling better, he still can’t sit up on his own, or move without a wheelchair, or do anything more than talk to them, but Leo dragged him into the room crowing about how much Michelangelo missed him. He’s bored, of course, but he says it’s better when all of his brothers are with him, and he says it with the biggest smile and Donnie can’t help but smile back. Mikey doesn’t hate him, he _misses_ him. 

They’re talking, and laughing, and joking like they always do. It’s peaceful. 

“So, Mikey,” Leo says with this big smirk, and Donnie rolls his eyes, already preparing for some dumb joke or comment, maybe a pun. He leans forward, and somehow at the same time manages to puff out his chest, “you know, you’re gonna be a ladykiller now—ladies _love scars.”_

Donnie tenses a little, but no one else seems put off by the mention of Mikey’s injuries. Leo just leans back to cross his arms behind his head, and winks. “Trust me,” he says, “ _I_ would know.” 

“He’s too young for a girlfriend,” Raph’s voice is loud, but amused. 

Donnie pipes up, his voice much quieter, it’s the first thing he’s said the whole conversation. “How would you know, Leo?” He asks, grinning slyly. “I’m pretty sure your chicken pock scars don’t count.” Leonardo’s mouth drops open, but the glitter in his eyes tells Donnie he’s happy. Raphael lets out a loud laugh, and goes to drop a hand on Donnie’s shoulder. 

He doesn’t know why he does it, he _knows_ Raph isn’t going to hurt him, but Donnie still flinches. Abruptly, all the laughter in the room cuts off, like it was playing from a record that got bumped and knocked off track. It splutters out into an awkward silence, and he freezes. Leo is watching him with this sad sort of look, Mikey looks confused, and Raph… Donnie can’t even bring himself to look at his big brother. He knows what he’ll see there. He doesn’t want to look up and see the guilt he feels for this whole situation reflected back at him. 

“I… sorry,” he says, his mouth feels dry like the desert. “I should get back to work, I’ll see you guys later.” He stands from his chair, not bothering to look back as he makes his way out of the room, forcing his shoulders straight and his feet steady. He can feel their stares boring into the tough material of his battle shell, and he itches and burns, threatening to squirm against the uncomfortable niggling sensation of being watched. 

He almost makes it to his lab before Leo catches up with him, curling a hand around his bicep so he can’t just ignore him and continue walking. 

“Donnie,” Leo’s voice is irritatingly soft again, and he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say. He’d gone and ruined everything again, they’d been having fun and then he’d went and flinched for _no_ reason. It was stupid, Raphael apologized, he feels bad, he _regrets_ hitting Donnie. _But he still hit you,_ his thoughts echo, loud in his otherwise-crammed brain, the thought sticks out from the jumbled mess of insecurities and guilt. His thoughts have always been logical, but logic doesn’t _apply_ to this situation. He deserved the hit, and it was only one, not even full strength. 

He shrugs off Leo’s hand, and continues the rest of the way into his lab. He wants to be alone.

-

Hours later, he doesn’t turn when he hears the squeak of Michael’s wheelchair against the floor behind him, just keeps working. He ignores him, pressing a button to check if his newest invention is working, before deciding it definitely isn’t when all it does is give a little sputter. Mikey is dead silent, and he almost forgets he’s even there before he finally speaks up. “Leo told me what Raph did,” he admits. His voice is familiar and warm. It’s nice to hear again, he’d been so worried he would never get the chance when he’d first seen how injured he was. “It’s not your fault, you know?” Donnie twitches, but he doesn’t answer. 

“You couldn’t have known it was us, I don’t need Leo to tell me _that._ I know you love us just as much as we love you. You would never hurt us on purpose.” Usually, Mikey would giggle and make a comment about his accidental rhyme, but he doesn’t this time. Instead, Donatello hears the press of his wheels against the floor, and feels a familiar hand reach up to rest on his shoulder, the bare part left uncovered by the fake shell. “I don’t blame you.” It feels like something is released at those words, like some unseen tension leaving his mind alert and his body stiff. He relaxes into the hand, and turns to face his little brother. He’s smiling, the same sunshiney smile that Donnie had worried he’d never see directed at him again. 

“Thanks, Mikey,” his voice comes out softer than he’d meant it, and in a cruel twist of irony, now he can’t keep the emotions out of his tone, like he had once struggled to show. He remembers looking Raph in the eyes and asking what happened, his tone dead despite all his worry, his fear. Now, he doesn’t think he could go back to that anymore. 

Mikey smiled even brighter, if it was even possible, and pulled his hand away. “Now, let’s go find the others, they were worried about you. You get the honour of pushing me,” Donnie laughs quietly and stands, already moving around the wheelchair to turn it around and guide it out of his lab, leaving his tech behind. 

Maybe, he thinks with a fond expression, something good _had_ come out of this mess. He feels closer to his brothers already, and the thought of being vulnerable around them doesn’t seem to scare him as much as it once had.


End file.
